


What If I Need You?

by SoLongAndThanksForAllTheFish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoLongAndThanksForAllTheFish/pseuds/SoLongAndThanksForAllTheFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next thing he knew there was someone shouting, talking to him, yelling for a cab and dragging him out of the alley. Last time he was dragged, literally dragged, somewhere was at his last year at uni when a guy beat the shit out of him because he snapped at him and told him to go kiss his friend Doug on the corner of the cafeteria like he did every Thursday. He said  that in front of the guy's girlfriend... But that was years ago, like what, three, four? Four next november.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Many Minds of A Sociopath

He looked up at the sky and looked for shapes in the clouds, ignoring the shouting in the mansion behind him, or trying to. He didn't understand what they were saying, but he knew it was his fault. It always was, his dad would say things to him to ensure that he knew this, such as “This is your fault! If you were normal none of that would have happened!” and his mom always cried when she heard those words, but his dad would blame her too, saying that if she hadn't spoiled the little boy, or if she wouldn't protect him from his “ _discipline_ ”, he would be normal, he wouldn't do or say “ _abnormal_ ” shit.

Two long, but weak, gentle hands, grabbed the boy's shoulder. Mycroft was thirteen and he was Sherlock's hero. He was smart, polite and he protected Sherlock from the “discipline”, whatever that might be.

When Sherlock thought about discipline he thought about the last time his dad used the word and his mom ended up with bruises all over her ribs from a chair he had thrown at Sherlock and she had jumped in front of it. The little dark haired boy wished he had said something, but he was too scared, too afraid to breathe.  
Two weeks later, when he saw a girl hit a boy with her shoe at pick up time in school, Mycroft was terrified by the scene, but Sherlock merely looked up at him and said “It's just discipline, Mycroft, our teachers keep saying that our school in known by that.” His older brother had knelt down and told him that this wasn't discipline, it was _violence_. “Discipline is something else, Sherlock.” and that wan't very clarifying, but although the little boy wanted to ask, he didn't. He liked when Mye gave him that nice look that meant “I am proud of you because you understand things quickly.”  
The gentle hands shook Sherlock out of that train of thought, “Come with me, lets take a walk by the lake.”  
Sherlock grabbed Mycroft's hand and went with him because Mye always knew what to do, and he was always right, like a super-hero. Sherlock didn't want to be a hero, he wanted to be a pirate, but that is okay, mom always said he could be whatever he wanted to be.

**

“Sherlock, can you not?” the teacher asked him, anger in her normally soft blue eyes that were darting in between him and the kid crying in the seat next to him.  
“I thought he knew!” Sherlock panicked, how didn't people just god damn know what was obvious.  
“Your behavior is not acceptable and I will have to ask you to get out. Now.” He sat there, mouth open. Mrs. Davis liked him, she truly did, he knew that! Then why wasn't she on his side? He didn't do anything wrong! The kid teased him, saying he was a freak with no parents and he just told him what he saw and thought, “ _it's better to have no dad, than to have one that cheats on my mom, beats her up and yet sticks around_.”  
The principal's office was cold and everything looked disgustingly green. The old couch with coffee stains on it, the secretary's table, the pale green of the walls that had been there since the beginning of times and Mrs. Langley herself. The poor secretary was pregnant, three months, her boyfriend didn't know yet, but if she kept feeling sick like that every morning it wouldn't take long until he figured it out; he was the biology teacher after all.  
Mr. Godfrey didn't take long, he greeted Sherlock with a stiff smile and signaled for him to come into his office for the fiftieth time this month.  
The speech was the same, except that this time, after he was done, the principal pinched his nose and looked Sherlock dead in the eye before asking: “What is the problem here, now, don't lie to me. I mean, really.” And Sherlock didn't lie, “I don't know, I just don't understand how people can't just know.”  
“Not everyone has to know everything.” The man said regretting the question and looking a little bit angry at the eleven year old sitting across from him.  
“You don't understand either! I look at you and I know that your wife is pregnant, but spending some time with her mom because you had a fight. Maybe it was because she wants to move or maybe it was because you don't feel like you make enough money to support a family of three, but that is none of my business, I just don't get why people have to be dull and why can't they observe, or better, why can't I be left alone?! When others tease me, they are repressed in the classroom and that is it, but when I tell them the truth that hides in plain sight, they cry and I get sent here, so now you tell me, what is the problem with you people, and don't you lie to me, I mean, really.”  
Mycroft had to pick him up and that was the end of Sherlock's only year in a regular school, but he was happy to be home schooled again, it made his arguments against people that much stronger and his mother could never say he didn't try. Mycroft could never say he didn't try either, but even though he knew that he had tried and that nobody could say he didn't, that night Mycroft had laid with him on his bed and listened to him sob, a little ashamed, and ask questions about his father to which Mycroft answered “Go to sleep, Sherlock, it will be okay, I promise to stay all night.”

**

Sherlock was sixteen when he started smoking, he was at uni and it was dull. People were dull. They hated him and he hated them.  
There was this boy, Sebastian, he would pick on Sherlock, make fun of him, and then he would creep behind Sherlock in the library hallways and bruise the dark haired boy's lips with hard kisses until they almost got caught. They went on like this for six months and then one day when Sebastian creeped behind him, Sherlock screamed “harassment” and got the older boy in trouble, not too much though, but just enough so he wouldn't come close again, not to kiss or bully.  
Then there was Victor. Vic was twenty one and deeply interested in the tall, dark haired boy that broke into the uni lab at night smoking a cigarette and did his own experiments, sometimes stealing body parts if he got lucky.  
“You can't just break in here, you know?” Victor whispered one day from the door frame.  
“As if you hadn't been here too in the last two weeks stalking me through the window and ducking when I actually looked in your general direction. Grow the fuck up.” Sherlock said without moving his eyes from his experiment.  
“Oh, you noticed...” a quick _duh_ echoed in the room.  
Victor sat down and watched the to-be-seventeen year old work. He did it for three months every night.  
Sherlock liked him, he did, but he wouldn't say it out loud. Of course he was dull and lame, but he was sweet and not ashamed to sit together at meals or walking down the hallway to knock on the door and offer coffee. That became more and more usual until it was routine. The teenager knew that Victor wanted him to invite him in, to forget about coffee, but he liked teasing him, opening the door with messy hair sometimes, without a shirt on at other times and this one time only in his boxers. It was fun, until one day it wasn't anymore. It was Sherlock's birthday and he had been avoiding humans all day, but then Victor knocked, and he suddenly wished for company, so he let the older boy in and after a few minutes, spoke to him, drank coffee with him, laughed a bit, called him dull.  
“Here, for your birthday”, Victor gave him a little, nicely wrapped in red wrapping paper box.  
“What? I told you I think this is stupid.” Sherlock snapped, but Victor could tell he was curious.  
“Just open it, you prick.” a smile took over the younger boy's face.  
He tore the paper apart as slowly as it was possible and then opened the box, pulling a new pair of boxers out of it and staring at it furrowing his brow.  
“Couldn't help but noticing that you needed new boxers... The other day, I mean...” Victor was blushing, but fuck, he wanted to sound smooth! “There is more, in the box, just so you know, I am not your grandmother.”  
Sherlock smiled openly at the comment and lay his new boxers beside Victor, carefully. At the bottom of the box was a watch, a beautiful one with a note hanging from it “Just to keep you in time for our date, Friday at seven.”  
They both smiled when their eyes met and held their gazes for a few seconds.  
“Might as well try my new boxers on. Care to give an opinion?”

**

Victor was Sherlock's first. First everything, you name it, friend, boyfriend... sadly, his first heart break too.  
“It's for the best,” he'd say “my dad needs me and I will learn a lot.”  
Sherlock just shook his head, Victor was going to work abroad with his dad and there was nothing they could do, plus, he was right, it was for the best. Relationships were distracting, sex was distracting and that was the last thing they needed right now.  
Later that night, after crying onto Vic's shoulder and kissing him goodbye, the exhaustion took over and the phone made texts noises far away.  
In the morning Sherlock went over his texts.

I am sorry for your break up  
MH  
received at 9:04 PM July 7th

Fuck off.  
SH  
sent at 7:23 AM July 8th

It wasn't long until Sherlock decided that uni just wasn't the place, he went off on his own and kept ignoring Mycroft as much as he could.  
None of them knew why, but after Sherlock turned fourteen they had grown distant because Mycroft was gone and always working, he didn't have time to listen to his younger brother anymore, or his afflictions, he couldn't lay in bed with the limp, tall and younger boy and promise to stay all night because he didn't have time, he was out there and for all that Sherlock knew, he could be saving the world or burning it, being a fucking super-hero, and Sherlock hated him for it.

**

The surroundings were dark, his skin felt cold and hurt against the floor and his head hurt.  
Vital signs were all over, he felt sleepy and confused, having abdominal pain and vomiting all over himself. Well, shit. He was overdosing in a back alley, alone. The needle was still hanging from his arm and he thought to himself that it was a good, fair way to go. Dying young and alone, no people bothering him. He shut his eyes closed and waited, feeling the light rain on his face.  
Next thing he knew there was someone shouting, talking to him, yelling for a cab and dragging him out of the alley. Last time he was dragged, literally dragged, somewhere was at his last year at uni when a guy beat the shit out of him because he snapped at him and told him to go kiss his friend Doug on the corner of the cafeteria like he did every Thursday. He said that in front of the guy's girlfriend... But that was years ago, like what, three, four? Four next November.  
“Hey, listen to me, mate, you have to be awake okay?” A strange, soothing voice kept saying.  
Sherlock tried to mutter a “leave me alone”, but he couldn't. He just let himself be dragged and talked to until there were more voices and the dark alley had turned into this white room with people dressed in white and everything was fuzzy and way too bright.

**

The feeling of regaining conscience can be either marvelous – it probably is to those who awake from a coma or survive a tragic accident – or it can be a huge pile of shit, and stiffness, and indirect Mycroft. Fuck.  
“Hello. Can you hear me?” Sherlock's eyes were just starting to work on the focus. Too bright.  
“Who are you?” He asked dryly and noticed that his mouth was actually very dry, his voice sounded like a growl and he tried swallowing.  
“Water. Right. Sorry.” The stranger said grabbing a glass and pouring water into it, and while he walked over, the recently-conscious man got his mind into action. _Army doctor, single, looking for a flat mate, psychosomatic limp, trust issues and financial difficulty. Blonde, short, tanned, soothing smile._  
Sherlock drank the water quickly and stared at the stranger.  
“Oh! Yes,” the blonde man said, “I am John Watson. I... I found you.” He smiled shyly and sadly.  
“I see.” Sherlock said, “You can go now.”  
“What?” John knew this wasn't a good idea, he knew junkies were rude and that he shouldn't have stayed, but that man. Seeing him so helpless, left to die in an alley somewhere... That man had a family, someone out there that cared, John had thought when he saw Sherlock lying on the floor that night. At first he thought that that was a very funny looking plastic bag, until it turned it's face towards the sky and sighed.  
“I understand that you brought me here and now you have seen me awake, your job here is done, Dr. Watson. Goodbye.” Sherlock expected the man to be irritated, boring, hurt... John smiled.  
“The man in the hallway, he said you'd be like that.” He pulled a chair and sat beside Sherlock.  
John had never seen such calm in someone that is in a hospital's waiting room. The Man in The Suit – as he called Mycroft in his head – was standing there with his umbrella for a second before he spotted John.  
“Hello, I understand that you are the man who just brought Sherlock Holmes in.” He said in a low voice. A business voice.  
“Sherlock? Oh, I don't know... I did bring a man in, I don't know him though.” John answered looking up from his blue, old, smelling like alcohol chair.  
“Around seventeen minutes ago you brought a young man in, you found him overdosing. His name is Sherlock Holmes.” John blinked.  
“How can you possibly know that?” His eyes showing the amazement, especially because now, he knew the name of the man he had just brought in.  
“Let's focus on what is important, Doctor, where did you find him?” John was startled as to how that man knew his profession and what the hell did he want?  
“I don't see why I should give you this information, specially because I don't even know how you know my profession and how I found that man tonight.” John whispered and pressed his lips in a thin line staring right into the other man's eyes.  
“You are a loyal creature, like a puppy,” the man said with a fake smile and gave it a pause to a dramatic sight, “when he wakes up, he will be a miserable brat and I hope you are still feeling brave to deal with his charming personality, Dr. Watson, he'll need someone like that. Goodnight.” The man started moving away, but John jumped to his feet and responded before he could stop himself.  
“If you care so much, why aren't you waiting to see him?” It was hard to believe that a man like Sherlock didn't have someone to look after him, and that someone so interested in him just wouldn't stay to check if he was okay.  
“Oh,” Mycroft laughed a business laugh as John interpreted, “believe me, I'll do him some good if I don't go in there. Almost like a treat for me not to be there.” Mycroft smiled and walked away. John waited for another three hours until Sherlock's doctor said he was going to be okay, and that John was allowed in the room.  
“The man in the hallway?” Sherlock asked furrowing his brows.  
“Yes, there was a man, worried about you, asking questions, but he didn't want to come in... If you don't mind me being an intruder, your boyfriend looked pretty calm, but mad at you... Maybe you'd like to call him?” John suggested and Sherlock shrugged violently.  
“My boyfr... That was my brother, and yes, I do mind you being an intruder very much so. I don't know you and you are here, in my bloody room, giving me romantic advice.” Sherlock snapped and turned his face to the window.  
“I am so sorry, you don't have a boyfriend then? Girlfriend?” John tried, he needed to find someone to look after this man.  
“Girlfriend?” Sherlock snorted, “No, not really my area.”  
“Alright do you have a boyfriend then?” John tried yet once again.  
“No.” Sherlock looked at him suspiciously.  
“Hey, mate, I need some help here, we need to call someone and get you back with your family or friends, someone to watch over you.”  
“There isn't anyone, leave me alone.” The brunette sighed dramatically.  
“Then I guess I'll just look for your brother, excuse me for a second.”  
“NO!” his throat hurt from the scream, his voice was rusty as if it hadn't been used in weeks.  
John looked at him. Really looked at the man sitting on the bed, looking like shit with his dark curls all over his face and the blue eyes buried in the deep purple circles that surrounded them, his skin looked like it would crack and his lips looked dry. He had nice lips though, nice eyes too, but you could tell he was hooked on something and that this last fall had been bad.  
As soon as the blonde thought to answer with something sharp, a doctor came into the room, her smile spread all over her face.  
“Hello, you two!” her name tag read Sarah and she was pretty. Long brown hair put up in a ponytail and brown eyes, she smiled at them, “I have the forms and you both can go home,” she said and John furrowed his brows “Surprisingly you are not being sent to any sort of special care facility or even to our counselling, Mr. Holmes, but I insist that you think about it and discuss with Dr. Watson what is best for you.” Her smile was gone and her eyes showed sympathy.  
“Wait, no...” John began to say and then his eyes ran over the papers she was holding and they said that John was Sherlock's emergency contact, that he was allowed to take Sherlock home.  
“I am so sorry doctor, but I don't know what you mean, he just brought me in, I...” She cut him off ignoring his statement.  
“Your forms are here, and whatever you need we will always be here, Sherlock. I would have sent you to rehab if I were doctor Watson, but he insisted to take you home in a detailed letter and as he is a doctor, apparently that was acceptable and you don't get to say anything because you clearly don't have many points when it comes to taking care of yourself.” She said and opened the door. “You can contact us at any time for help, Dr. Watson.” She smiled and closed the door behind her.  
“This is ridiculous, this is...” John started saying.  
“This is Mycroft.” Sherlock sulked for a few moments, “Listen, you don't have to do this and I don't want you too, so, why don't you just put me on a cab and done?” Sherlock suggested trying to get up without looking dizzy. He was very dizzy.  
“No, I can't leave you alone, that is insane!” John said as if Sherlock was missing the obvious, “look, start packing and I'll get around this.” John said and closed the door. The tall brunette sighed. Shit had gone way too wrong this time, if only he hadn't been found...

**

John flipped through the phone book and there was no fucking Holmes to be found.  
“Fuck!” he said sitting on another blue, smelly chair. Where could he find this man? A few moments went by before he had an idea, “Hi, um, hello, I am... My name is John, John Watson, I am here with Sherlock Holmes and I need his belongings. Yes, we are going home. Yes. Thank you.” He flipped through the stranger's phone, that strangely didn't have a password, until he found the contacts – John had never been good with electronics, it took him a while every time – Fatty. That was the only contact, and that would do.  
He dialled the number and waited, someone picked up at the second ring.  
“Doctor Watson, how can I help you?” The voice of ' _fatty_ ' took over the rings.  
“Now, how the bloody... It doesn't matter. You are Mycroft, right?” John said impatiently.  
“Yes, that is me.” The man answered quickly.  
“Your brother is awake, he is fine, but he needs to go home and something messed up happened, they think I am responsible for him and I don't know him, but I am not leaving him alone here, or letting him go home alone because, well, because he is a drug addict and I would never forgive myself if I left him.”  
“Then don't.” Mycroft said, simply.  
“What?! I can't take care of a grown up man, I don't fucking know him! And the most absurd thing, you'll leave your brother to the care of a complete stranger? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” he took a deep breath feeling exhausted. This couldn't be happening.  
“You are not a stranger to me. I've seen you. I know all about you and you will be so much better than I would be to take care of him. I heard you are looking for a flat mate and my brother obviously need one, I'll tell you what, you move in and look after him until he is clean and I will pay you a large check to tell me how he is doing, of course he is not to know of this little arrangement...”  
“Fuck you.” John said and hung up.  
This man needed help, not a fucking circus going around him. John picked up the rest of Sherlock's things and threw his phone in the same bag turning to the room the brunette was.

**

“Let's go.” John said quietly from the door.  
“You called him. Shit.” Sherlock sighed and looked possessed with anger. “This is none of your business, just let me go! When is he getting here? I need to be out by then. Might as well jump the window.”  
“He is not coming.” Sherlock froze. In a way, it hurt to hear that. He remembered when he was eleven and Mycroft spent the night in his room. “But I am coming. With you.” John said.  
“I don't remember inviting you.” The taller man hissed.  
“I don't remember asking.” John sighed and pinched his nose bridge, what the fuck was he doing? “look, I need a flatmate and you clearly need one too.” John looked up and grinned a sad grin. “Let me help.”  
Sherlock scoffed, but he knew that this could be his only chance, that if he kept going that way he was going to die and, although he wanted to, in a way, he also was afraid of it, he wanted to live and this man might be the last thing that would keep him from drowning in his own darkness. He might also be what pushes him down finally and for good.  
“Give me my coat.” Sherlock said looking up at the blonde. This was insane.

**


	2. New Addictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was crazy, he just left a junkie that he felt responsible for, alone in his flat that must have drugs in it to pick up his stuff because, get ready, he was moving in to start treatment! What the fuck was happening.

The room was dark and there was more dust than furniture. John wondered for the tenth time today what the hell was he doing in this situation.

“I can't believe this.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“What?” John glanced at him in curiosity, his heart skipping a bit at the thought that he might get kicked out and then he wouldn't know what to do.

“MRS. HUDSON!” Sherlock yelled and John almost jumped out of his skin.

An old lady came rushing in and murmuring, “Oh Sherlock, you don;t need to shout.” He rented about how she moved his papers and that he precisely told her not to.

Mrs. Hudson didn't really give a shit, John thought, but she seemed to like Sherlock and his heart broke thinking about this old lady seeing someone she liked wasting away like a pile of dust in the wind.

When the poor woman walked away John stopped to look at Sherlock, really look.

“So, I can bring my stuff in today...” Sherlock gave him a look, and for a second he was a child, a confused child in need of so much help, and John wondered if Sherlock really had been that kind of child.

“Are we really doing this?” Sherlock said calmly, it wasn't defence mode, it was more like a last chance for John to escape and the blonde man considered it, he really did.

If he left now and never looked back he wouldn't have to deal with a junkie, he wouldn't be in this ridiculous situation with strangers and he would never be tied to this Sherlock. The last one did it and he looked at the door, closing the distance in between the passage and him, giving Sherlock a look while he bit his cheek deep in thought of how to say that.

“I will be back in an hour, I don't have too much stuff.” Sherlock smiled, grinned and nodded, darting to the shower.

 

**

 

It was crazy, he just left a junkie that he felt responsible for, alone in his flat that must have drugs in it to pick up his stuff because, get ready, he was moving in to start treatment! What the fuck was happening.

John opened his flat and flipped the lights on. It was empty, he only had a bed, his computer, a few clothes... Much cleaner than Sherlock's because... Well, first of all he wasn't Sherlock.

Why would he give up his peaceful life to live with a junkie? Why? What was he thinking? Was he even, actually, _thinking_?

He had never been one to get into sketchy situations, well, not more than regular sketchy stuff that happen to everyone, but this... This was different, it felt different. Someone needed his help and the was no one else. Not one soul. This could be the end of him, the biggest mistake. Or it could be the best thing he did in his life, the actual good thing he did in his life, so he got up and started packing his clothes and few personal objects. This was a choice, and he didn't know that yet, but it was the best choice he'd ever make.

 

**

 

Sherlock started the shower and undressed. His muscles felt sore and his head was hurting a bit, every thought was fuzzy.

As any other patient – well, any other patient that had an overdose –, Sherlock had stayed in the hospital for forty eight hours, but they kept him out, so he missed this couple days and his body was punishing him for it.

Why did Mycroft skip the “professional help” thing was beyond Sherlock, the British Government was always blabbing and renting about how he should have counselling and all of that shit, and be clean, and then there was John. This insane, short, man that jumped right in because he couldn't watch a man being left on his own with an addiction. This man. Who was he? _What_ was he?

The warm water calmed Sherlock's thoughts. After the shower he put his pyjama pants and his robe, that was all he needed to sit comfortably in his chair and think. Just drift off to a mind palace that he had neglected for far too long.

 

**

 

The dust was still impressive when John entered the flat the second time. It was just too much.

A dark figure was in blue spread on the couch and he didn't move when the blonde came in. “We should, um, talk, I guess.”

“Go on.” The voice was low and it pulled John closer, where he felt compelled to sit in a dusty, kinda red chair and for his surprise it was so comfortable.

“I am staying here because I want to help, because you overdosed and I believe that, if you let me get in that cab with you, or cross that door it is because you know you need help... Am I right?”

Sherlock remained quiet for a few long seconds.

“I want to help you Sherlock, but, will you let me?” John cut the silence and leaned forward, towards the man lying in silence.

A nod. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no. It was a nod and that was more than enough for John.

“Can you show me where you keep it? Let's get rid of it.” The brunette glanced at him, but John was smiling and comforting him with unspoken words.

They both stood up and Sherlock led the way to his hiding places. They emptied the book shelf hole, the loosen piece of wood on the floor in Sherlock's room and Sherlock even emptied the shower. Yes, he had a little zip lock bag inside the shower. No more places, he let John flush everything. All of his cocaine treated like shit, all of the reason why he was beaten up, thrown around in back alleys and almost broke several times, going down the toilet.

John looked at him with a cautious expression. It could take a day or hours for Sherlock to start experiencing the hard part of cold turkey and the brunette didn't exactly look excited about it. The doctor didn't know how long the abuse of the drug had been and how was the dosage... He didn't know. He wouldn't ask. He would just go through it with Sherlock and hold tight because it was going to be deep, deep shit.

Sherlock could read all that in John's face. Goodbye cocaine, hello cold turkey. John could pee himself from anxiety at any second now, but the brunette knew how it would be, he'd been there before and it sucked, and it hurt, and... and if he knew himself, it was about to start, anytime soon. He's been two days without it at the hospital and now this... Yes, John was lucky he got him lucid and thinking outside the craving, but it wasn't going to be that easy from now on. He walked away from the bathroom.

John heard the bedroom door close and felt relief as he finally leaned against the sink and breathed as if it was the last time.

**

The doctor showered as soon as he found a clean towel in his bag, moving his toothbrush and toiletry to the bathroom's cupboard.

His new room was dark and had dust everywhere. Tomorrow was cleaning day. For sure. The blonde thought while turning the mattress and making the bed so he wouldn't sleep in dust. Sleep. That was a high aspiration for him, but after two days in the hospital, he hadn't realized that his body was done and as soon as his head touched the pillow he was long gone.

At three AM, John woke up to a weird sound in the kitchen and rushed down the stairs. “Well, shit,” he said as he saw Sherlock moving things around, “What do you need Sherlock?” The taller man looked at him as if he was in despair.

“I am hungry,” he said shortly, “you can go to bed, I am going to find something.” He waved his hand to John.

“Hey, sit down, I'll get something for you to eat.” John walked around the kitchen, familiar with the fact that Cocaine cold turkey could cause increased appetite, but Sherlock was just bones, John could see through the open robe and how the pyjama pants elastics weren't doing much for the tiny hips, so that couldn't be a bad thing, more like a signal that it was about to go bad.

Sherlock sat in silence, and waited for John to hunt in the kitchen for some bread and cheese. All that Sherlock had. Not even tea. How does one – a British one – go without tea? John thought.

In a few minutes there was a grilled cheese in front of the bag of bones that once was just a six year old looking for shapes in the clouds. Once. Long ago.

“Thank you.” it was more like a whisper, but it brought a smile to the doctor's lips and he decided to sit across from Sherlock and make sure he actually ate. _Note to self: Do some shopping._

“Have you been through this before?” John asked looking at his fingers and then to Sherlock's face to see if he was prepared to talk about it, but Sherlock nodded so he just established eye contact, “And may I ask how long did it take for the symptoms, the really bad ones, to come up?” The brunette swallowed and held eye contact.

“I don't remember. Should be really soon. I am surprise I still haven't snapped at you, but it will start with this,” he said moving his chin towards the plate where only a little bit of the sandwich remained, waiting to be eaten, “and it will go downhill. Based on the time of use and my usual dosage it might last a few weeks.”

“Um, alright.” John said giving him a reassuring grin, “We might as well prepare then, you should go to bed.” the blonde started getting up and moving away from the table.

“John?” it sounded like a whisper, John turned and looked at him, “Are you sure you want this?” _Walk away, you are a good man and this will be so bad. Just get away and let me go back to my drug dealers and alleys, let me drown alone, don't let me drag you along._

“I am not walking away from you, Sherlock. Not until you are clean and ready to start over.” John let his legs rush him back to bed.

 

**

 

In the morning, the doctor got ready and went out shopping, locking the door and making sure he took the extra key too. Of course the store was a nightmare and of course the machine was possessed, but it was okay. John bought cleaning products and materials, tea, sugar, milk, beans... To be honest he bought everything he could possibly find because the flat had straight out nothing when it came to food and even the dental cream was coming to an end as well as the soap and the dish soap, plus the shampoo. 

He walked back from the store feeling excited, the beginning of a new day where he would clean the shit out of the flat, organize food and what not and be ready to take care of Sherlock in a more appropriate environment.

As soon as his keys opened the lock he heard a noise on the inside, like someone was running and hiding something or preparing something quickly, which made him open and close the door in a flash as Sherlock wasn't going to escape, not over his fucking dead body.

“Sherlock?” He called suspiciously. The silence was more alarming than anything, so he locked the door and kept both keys in the front pocket of his pants. Nothing. Well, shit. Might as well check on him. He settled the groceries on the ground and went to check the bedroom. Sherlock was lying in bed, sulking. “Hey, what was that noise?” John asked calmly. 

“Fuck off. I don't think this is working, you should go.” The voice came from under a pile of blankets actually, but John didn't mind, he went back to the kitchen and unpacked all of the cleaning stuff and right into action, starting by the living room, kitchen, bathroom, his room, unpacking groceries, putting the bags away... No sign of life came from Sherlock. Not one. 

John picked one of his favourite books and started reading one of the best parts when he heard a noise behind him, in the bathroom, “Sherlock?” he called and the only sound was of someone chocking. Nausea. John sprang to his feet and opened the bathroom door that Sherlock forgot to lock while Sherlock tried to wave him away with one hand and hold the toilet in place with the other.

“Hey, calm down, here,” he held Sherlock by the ribs so he wouldn't fall, the man was too weak after all, “hold on,” John ran for a glass of water, “now, don't drink much, just, go slow.” Sherlock got to his feet and drank a little water, going straight to the sink to brush his teeth after flushing.

“I am okay, you can go.” He said quietly and John held his gaze in the mirror until he gave up and walked to the living room.

 

**

 

By the end of the week Sherlock had tried to escape twice, tried to punch John once in an outburst of anger and had been pinned down on the living room floor when his craving crossed the line and he scratched the door making some of his fingers bleed.

But for now, in the first fifteen minutes of this morning, Sherlock was okay. Just okay. Putting up some weight and the nausea was gone for the last two days, “How are you feeling?” John asked calmly.

“I am good.” Sherlock was always quiet, and when he wasn't screaming and trying to make a whole on the wall he just wasn't talking at all.

“You know, I really wanted to talk to you. I want to know you, but if you are not in one of the symptoms I barely hear your voice.” John pointed out.

“I don't see why I should share anything else. You are here dealing with my addiction and that is all there is.” Sherlock looked at his cup of tea bitterly. 

“No, there is more. Tell me about your brother.” John asked.

“I don't talk about Mycroft and for fuck sakes don't treat me like that. I am okay for now and I hate this sort of treatment, we might as well keep the silence.” But John could be stubborn too.

“Alright, sorry, I just never know when you are going to have an outburst, but, I mean it. I really want to know. What did you do? I mean, for a living.” 

“I used to do the police job for them.” John smiled, but he wasn't mocking, Sherlock saw that smile as a _I knew it_ kinda thing.

“What is that supposed to mean?” the blonde leaned closer.

“It's supposed to mean that when the police is at a dead end, which is always, they come to me – came to me – and I help them solve their cases, but I don't get paid or the credit, I just... Enjoy it.”

“Nice, so, you were a junkie that enjoyed crime scenes, that is marvellous, really, I couldn't have found a better flat mate if I begged for one.” John cracked a smile and Sherlock followed him a few seconds later with a deep chuckle. 

“You certainly like some disturbing shit, too. I mean, you are here.” Sherlock smirked and touched his own arm.

“But, what I don't get is, why would they come to you, what makes you special?” John was leaning a bit closer and Sherlock noticed that his lips were a bit parted and one corner of his mouth was up, his eyes were shining in a dark blue and Sherlock wished he could see them in the light... 

“I observe what you, idiots, don't.” John furrowed his brows as if processing the offence, “Oh! Don't be offended, almost everyone is an idiot. So, I can tell things about people that aren't obvious to others, I can tell things about places, objects just because I observe.”

“But, the police doesn't consult amateurs.” John let out, still with his brows furrowed.

“I can tell by your mobile phone that your brother is an alcoholic, by your wrist that you are an army doctor, that the limp you had a week and a half ago was psychosomatic, just like your therapist said, I also know your brother's wife walked out on him recently and that, although you needed help with money – and this why you needed a flat mate – you still wouldn't go to him for help because, as we both know, you don't like addicts.” Sherlock smirked running his fingers over his neck as if acting like this was unimportant.

“That was...” Sherlock waited for John to get up and walk out of the door, or punch him first... It was okay really, the man had stayed much more than he thought he would, but then “amazing. That was truly something. Wow.”

“What?” the brunette asked furrowing his brows over his pale blue eyes. 

“Except that it is my sister, not my brother.” the sight Sherlock let out was the definition of frustration and John smiled at that, then Sherlock's eyes widened and suddenly he slapped his arm with such strength that John jumped to his feet. “Sherlock?” Sherlock started scratching his arms and neck and then looked up at John, eyes floated with panic. The doctor jumped forwards and grabbed Sherlock's hands wrestling him to put his arms behind his back and then he held Sherlock in place, one hand holding his wrists and the other his head against the table before he could slam his forehead on the wood like he was trying too.

“JOHN, HELP ME! NO! THEY ARE EVERYWHERE! JOHN!” Sherlock let out a pained scream and tried to get himself loosen from John's grip, but John only held him in place with more ferocity.

“Sherlock, listen to me, whatever you think you are seeing, it is not real, I don't see anything. I will keep you here so you won't hurt yourself.” Sherlock tried a little more and John sighed while Sherlock broke into a chain of screams again and again, calling for John and begging him to let go, begging him to get the lighter. _Jesus, Sherlock._ John thought as he heard the lighter idea. Setting himself on fire, wonderful Sherlock, brilliant.

John needed to get something to put Sherlock to sleep, but they were in the kitchen and tea really wasn't the way, so the doctor let go of his grip just fast enough to put his arm around Sherlock's neck and squeeze. The brunette couldn't decide in between scratching himself or John's arms for air, until he just passed out. 

The doctor carried him to his room and laid him in bed, getting one of his syringes to actually give something efficient that would put Sherlock to sleep all night long, and then he keeled on the floor beside the bed and touched Sherlock's hair. He was a beautiful man and an intelligent one too, he was also rude and stubborn, but John wanted to save him. He wanted to meet the real man. The tall brunette that was just with him in the kitchen, the smart, sarcastic and gorgeous man that just set across from him and he would fight to get that.

 

**

 

After a few minutes he decided he wouldn't leave the room. He got a couple more shots ready in case he had to put Sherlock to bed again and tried to find something to do. Anything. Inside the room. That messy, dusty, disgusting room. Well, there it was. 

John cleaned away and even opened the window for a few minutes so the air would come in. Not that the London air could do much good to anyone, but it was worth a try. After closing the window he set himself beside Sherlock, sitting on the edge of the bed with his book, and then he needed to put his back against something... Ended up sitting against the headboard with Sherlock right beside him. 

In his medication-induced sleep, Sherlock moved a lot and put his head on John's leg. The awkward sign inside John was basically a neon sign telling him to get out before Sherlock felt like he had been abused, but he would not leave Sherlock alone. Not anymore. Not until some really great progress was done. Fuck the awkward sign. He stoke Sherlock's hair and smile. They were almost there, maybe in a couple weeks they could go take a walk together. John knew it could last several weeks, but, although they had this episode just now, he saw the progress and he felt confident that this wouldn't take much longer.

Sherlock woke up and John was all curled up in a chair right beside him, looking so uncomfortable it hurt the brunette to look at him. 

“John?” The doctor opened his eyes and was on his feet in a heart beat, “Morning. Nothing to worry about, just, I was going to say you can go to bed, I feel good.” Sherlock grinned.

“Not a chance,” John said, “but we could go to the kitchen and get some breakfast, you have been looking healthier and I don't want to take that for granted.” 

Sherlock smiled and tried to get up, but then he realized that his whole body was shaking and there wasn't much they could do so he stayed there looking at John as if a child waiting to hear that in fact there is no monster under their bed.

The doctor only nodded and crawled into bed holding Sherlock in place. No, it wasn't necessary; no, Sherlock hadn't asked for it; No, it wasn't normal for them, but none of this mattered to the blonde, small figure that put his arms around the shaking man, because that wasn't the reason he was holding him. Sherlock didn't trust that he would make it, this weeks were wearing his confidence away and every time another symptom showed up he felt like it just wouldn't have an end and he felt like giving up, but the doctor saw that and refused to agree, so he held him. No awkward sign, no nothing, he just stayed there until the shaking went away, gradually, and they could get up and have breakfast. They didn't talk about it.

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know, so much sooner than what I had promised, but I will be really busy from now on and, as I have the whole fanfic ready, I decided to post this chapter today and I might post a few more in the next little while.   
> English is not my first language, so please, be patient. All of the symptoms in this chapter were provided by endless research on Gloogle.  
> Thank you so much for reading it, please feel free to comment and point out whatever you want (:


	3. No Good Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NO, what the fuck are you talking about? You can't just come and go like that! You can't just fix everything and leave, what the bloody hell are you renting about?

Insomnia, fatigue, irritability, angry outbursts, nausea, shaking, muscle aches and pains, anxiety, agitated behavior, severe cravings for cocaine and increase of appetite. These were the three longest weeks of John and Sherlock's life. So long. But not one single symptom had come up in the last five days. Not one, and John was so hopeful.

“So, I was thinking...” the doctor started sitting across from Sherlock in his own chair.

“Oh, very impressive, John, please, shower me with knowledge.” Sherlock said from the couch where he laid touching his fingertips under his chin, eyes closed. _Beautiful_ , John thought and waved the thought away immediately.

“You git. I was thinking that maybe now would be a good time for you to start seeing a professional, maybe I can recommend my therapist to you and you should go for a while, for the rest of your life actually, but, you know, just so I know that you have some support, someone that will call you back to Earth or call me if anything goes wrong.” Sherlock furrowed his brows and then decided to open his eyes.

“What do you mean, call you?” The brunette stared.

“Well, you look okay, and I will give it another couple of weeks still, but you should start treatment and I will see to a new flat, I will leave you be again. That was the deal, I'd be here if you needed me and now you don't, not anymore, or, I mean, in a couple weeks you'll have somebody else to support you and we can always see each other, I'll see how you are doing.” 

_NO, what the fuck are you talking about? You can't just come and go like that! You can't just fix everything and leave, what the bloody hell are you renting about? You are not going anywhere, John, you listen to me, you little piece of sh..._ “Do I really have to see a professional?” 

 

**

 

John was very pleased with the progress they had done together. Sherlock was healthier and accepted to see a therapist once a week and that sounded like bullshit, because, it was Sherlock he would never do that. John knew the man now, he understood his ways and laughed to think that they had been living together for only a month and he could tell when Sherlock was trying to manipulate him, acting as if he could express his emotions freely, or when he sulked just because it suited his personality, although he really was quite pleased with the situation, now, not just John, but fucking anyone could tell when he was bored. Ugh. 

The doctor had to find his own ways of keeping Sherlock busy, so they walked around and the brunette would deduce everyone, they even went to the morgue once and the cute girl that totally had a crush on Sherlock -which made John uneasy, because Sherlock just wasn't ready to be with someone, he was just over coming his addiction, of course, that was a good reason to be uneasy – let him in and let him take a couple fingers home somehow, or Sherlock fucking stole them while he flirted with her.

“You are cruel and I am watching my back with you.” John said shaking his head while they left the morgue.

“What?! Why?” Sherlock sounded offended. Fucking drama queen.

“You don't like her, do you?” that came out to fast... “I mean, you used her to get there, you don't really flirt with people, I wouldn't think so.” Sherlock gave John half a smile.

“Flirting is a key to those who use it in the right context.” The shorter man wished he could stare him down.

“You utter cock.” He replied staring at the figure wearing a long black coat that once was a garbage bag that looked at the sky.

“Are you jealous?” John froze, “are you jealous of my abilities with women to get what I want because you haven't slept with anyone in at least eight months?”

“Fuck. Off.” Sherlock laughed loudly and followed John, who decided to sulk because why not, Sherlock was a dick.

 

**

 

The therapist saw Sherlock that afternoon and John waited in the waiting room, reading a book, pretending to. He was so nervous. What would she say? Would Sherlock be able to live alone again and be happy going back to the police force and no friends? The doctor's stomach made a knot, but he wanted all that for Sherlock, of course he did, he wanted Sherlock happy! Did Sherlock have to be happy without him?

He waved the thought away and crossed an arm across his stomach while holding his book with his other hand. Sherlock would be fine, they'd always be friends.  _It will be great, just great._

The secretary touched his arm and he looked up to a blonde, tiny woman, with bright blue eyes and a stunning smile.

“Hi, sorry, I offered coffee a couple times, but you seemed a bit zoned out...” She bit her lower lip, “so here you go, I brought you some. Waiting rooms can be harsh on our nerves.” She gave him a wink.

“Thank you,” John smiled, “I am John, what is your name?” She smiled at him.

“Hi, John, I am Mary.”

 

**

 

“So, I will make sure to call and...” John had his bag ready. _Will you be okay? Am I even allowed to do that? What if you need me?_

“Good luck.” Sherlock said sitting on his chair as if he would never move again. He was looking out of the window. _What if I need you?_

“Alright, I will... I am off then.” John was about to close the door behind him when he thought that maybe he should look again, make sure that Sherlock wasn't... Wasn't... John closed the door behind him and left.

 

**

 

_Five days, three hours, twenty two minutes and seven seconds. Eight seconds._ John called for the first three days. Sherlock went to all of his appointments with the therapist and honestly, it was the dullest thing. Yes he missed cocaine, yes getting high felt good. No, not better than being clean. Yes, he planned on staying clean. Yes, he was trying to go back to the police force and focus on something else. John? What does John have to do with my drug addiction.

The brunette knew that the doctor had everything to do with that, but why was the therapist talking about him?

“I meant, are we going to talk about John?” The therapist said staring at Sherlock.

“There is nothing to talk about.” She held his gaze.

“He moved out, didn't he?” 

“Yes. Still nothing to do with my cocaine addiction.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Irrelevant.” She sighed, but kept staring at Sherlock.

“Now, Mr. Holmes, you are not here just because of your addiction. Of course, we want to keep you away from whatever kind of drugs you might come to think you _need_ , but most of all, my job is to treat and prevent whatever reasons you might have to go back to that. I am treating you, not your addiction.” 

“John won't be a reason for me to use cocaine, I figured we both knew that.” The sarcastic man looked at the floor giving up.

“Are you prepared to admit it?” At that Sherlock sighed and replied, “Nice talk, is a shame that our sixty minutes are up, but as you know, I am a busy man. See you next week.” He didn't plan to come back.

John called that afternoon and asked Sherlock about the appointments, made sure to ask him to please keep showing up. So there, damn. 

 

**

 

The phone rang and John sprang to his feet. Maybe it was Sherlock. Maybe he needed John back. Maybe. 

The new flat was small and clean and had that empty look that apparently the doctor carried around. It didn't look like his home really, not like 221B with all of the books, experiments and the violin. Maybe a proper home required a violin. Maybe not. John's did.

He waved the thoughts away and answered the phone trying not to sound desperate.

“Hello?” A different voice than what he expected came through the phone and he felt his stomach make a knot that wrote disappointment.

“Hi, who is this?” The doctor tried to keep it cool. Failing. Miserably.

“It's Mary. We met at the waiting room...” she sighed, “I just wondered if you would like to have coffee.”

Mary. The girl that spoke to him when Sherlock was inside and he was freaking out about moving and he had been right, moving sucked. Maybe he would call Sherlock later and ask to go back. Say that the rent was bad on him and maybe sharing would work if it worked for the brunette, but of course he would know John was lying, but who knows, he might not point it out; he might let John stay and pretend it is because of the money. He might.

“John? Are you still there?” the feminine voice called him back.

“Uh, yes! Sorry, yes. Coffee, um, sounds great. When?”

 

**

 

The steps were quick on the stair case and Sherlock pretended not to be anxious. 

“Hello,” John opened the door panting, but pretending he wasn't, so Sherlock did the same, “how are you?” This visits had become more common, but they both needed them badly and were okay with it happening as much as possible, they just wouldn't vocalize that.

“I am good. So, do you like her?” John smiled recognizing the abilities.

“Irrelevant.” He waved a hand towards Sherlock, miming the brunette's own movements and words, “did you call Leslie, Lee... the police force friend?”

“Lestrade, and he is not my friend, but yes, I did and I solved a case yesterday. Extremely dull. I thought he remembered my standards, but I'll make it do for now.” he smirked and the doctor smiled at him, sitting at his usual, comfortable chair.

“Good... So, how long has it been now? It feels like forever since I left!” John was trying to be smooth, but ended up as smooth as a plane crash because he was agitated, moving and stuttering. Sherlock furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes.

“A month,” he said calmly, _a month,two days and seventeen hours_ , “why, something wrong?”

“No, just...” John swallowed and sucked on his lower lip, “so I guess you are a detective now...”

“Consulting detective...” he said sounding suspicious.

“Oh, I see.” John smiled a nervous smile. _How am I supposed to ask to come back? Will it sound like I don't trust him. God that would be bad._

“I was thinking and I might need a partner to help me with the crimes, deal with some people, by that I mean Mycroft, and I wondered if you would like to help me...?” Sherlock was taking his violin out of the case, cautiously not making eye contact.

“Would that require me to move back in?” the doctor asked calmly.

“Yes, that would suit the situation much better, and you'd go through danger, face death and deal with me, all of my moods, experiments and boredom.” the detective locked his eyes with John's and waited.

“When can I bring my stuff?”

 

**

 

Sherlock was sulking on the couch and had already been rude to John at least seven times today, but John tried to be patient the first time, after that he just snapped back and at the last time he walked away.

“John, get me my phone.” the voice rang and John pinched the bridge of his nose. He was sitting in the kitchen having tea and reading the paper and Sherlock had been lying on that couch, miserable, all day long. 

It had been five months since John moved back and he had been seeing Mary before that. She was smart, beautiful, interesting and interes _ted_ in John, which was nice and his feelings for her were only growing and becoming stronger the more he spent time with her. He thought he might love her, like, really love her.

John had fed some sort of feeling for Sherlock, but he never got the chance to figure out what, really. Since he moved back he understood his flat mate as not interested. Not in sex, not in relationships nor anything in that area. The doctor didn't have problems about his own sexuality, for he had been with men before, in the army and when he was just a teenager, but he never got the chance to know what he felt for the detective sulking in the couch, and the fact that the man just guarded himself away from the world made John decide that it was enough. He wanted to be around Sherlock, around his best friend and now there was this beautiful woman and he was in love, it was the most perfect it could get.

“John!” _This fucking brat. Swear to God._

“You get up and get your bloody phone!” John snapped back and got up to leave.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock turned his head to see John at the door putting his coat and shoes on. _I know exactly where you are going and with whom. If I could only... But I can't._

“Deduce. Little git.” The door slammed behind the doctor and Sherlock sat up straight. He didn't come back to the therapist after his saviour had moved back in, so the therapist never had the chance to force him to say anything about John, not how he felt about their relationship or anything. Nothing.

The detective had ran away from explaining anything related to John because he didn't know what he felt. He had no idea. He knew that after John, the moth John was away and started to see Mary, the flat didn't smell like tea in the morning and there were no fuzzy jumpers hanging over the chair in the living room; there weren't any dull running shoes by the door, the red chair looked misplaced and the faint smell of peaches from John's shampoo wasn't in the bathroom anymore, or anywhere in the house. When John left, things were dull.

 

**

 

Mary was waiting at their regular table in the corner and she smiled at John when he got in her sight.

“Hey, how are you?” She asked smiling.

“I am great, sorry I kept you waiting,” he kissed her lips quickly, “Sherlock pissed me off a bit.”

“Well, I have ordered and I was wondering which movie you wanted to see after this.” John replied quickly and felt his phone vibrating. He thought it might be Sherlock. Last time he had met with Mary – and a few before that – Sherlock had texted and taken him to a crime scene somewhere, Mary had been quite understanding and nice about it, but when John thought back of those nights he felt sorry for leaving her.

“ _Go,” she said with a polite smile, “I will be fine and plus, he needs you for a case!” John frowned._

“ _It's not right to leave you here!” He protested._

“ _I will get a cab, and although I appreciate your concern, I am not offended, just go.” she smiled again._

“ _I am sorry and I will compensate you!” He said putting his coat on and flying out the door. But that was before._ Not today. Today he wouldn't do that to Mary.

“So, I was thinking,” he said ignoring the phone that kept buzzing with a thousand messages, “maybe we could watch a movie at your place tonight.” he licked his lower lip in expectation.

“But, what about Sherlock, what if he needs you? I don't want the London police accusing me of seducing you and therefore being the reason a murderer escaped.” she giggled. 

“Well, too bad for them.” John squeezed her hand over the table. _Maybe I am ready. Maybe that is what it takes to be happy. Yes. Maybe it's time._

 

**

 

The morning came, but John didn't.  _ At least, not home _ . Sherlock thought sarcastically and groaned at the thought. Mary was a nice woman, independent and very strong, something amiss, but then, she didn't have a family and that usually was a reason for trauma for ordinary people.

The door opened and a blonde head with messy hair stick in and John smiled a sleepy smile to Sherlock.

“Morning.” John said.

“Hello, I assume you didn't reply to my texts because you had something very important going on on your date, like the apocalypse or anything that might have been amiss like that, perhaps a serial killer. That would be good reason.” John sighed. 

“Did I miss anything important?”

“Well, besides the fact that I solved the triple murder, no.” Another smile spread on the doctor's face.

“So you solved it, I wasn't needed. Thank God, good for England.” He went towards the bathroom and a few minutes later Sherlock heard the shower. Sex nights at Mary's were infuriating. At least to those who actually did something with their lives, it was.

 

**

 

A week later John was alone in the flat and getting ready to meet Mary. Today. He was going to ask her and it was going to be the happiest day, they would have dinner, have a drink or two, make love and sleep in just to start a new day making plans.

_ I should have told Sherlock.  _ He knew that, but every time he just couldn't bring himself to say it because somehow, every time he got Sherlock's attention, when they locked their eyes, the doctor wanted to talk about something else, something that wouldn't present any risk of ruining the moment or locking Sherlock away in himself. Well, too damn late now.

John closed the door behind him and went straight to the restaurant, like a man on a mission.

 

**

 

When John entered the flat the next day, Sherlock's heart went cold. She had said yes.

“Sherlock, good to see you up, I need to talk to you.” The detective gave him a cold look.

“It was a yes then. When are you planning to have the ceremony?” 

“I guess I should have known you could read it on my face. May.” John smiled.

“Well, your jeans were kind of a give away.” 

“I just hope you know nothing will change in between us.” the doctor said firmly.

“Oh, I know. You'll just move out, have a partner and maybe raise a couple kids. Everything will be fine, it's not the end of the world.” Sherlock grinned quickly and went towards the bathroom.  _ I am a stupid wanker. Being sarcastic definitely doesn't work on my side. Not now.  _ He stick his head out of the door and saw John standing there, a broken look on his face, “I am happy that she said yes, I really wish you all of the happiness you can get, John.” Sherlock smiled a sincere smile and saw John's expression relax, then he closed the door.  _ Crying is not an option. It is done. _

 

_**_

 

_This is what I want._ John sat in his chair and looked out of the window,  _ I made this decision and I am happy. Am I not? Timing John. Timing. Sherlock was never an option. _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Tuesday as promised. Hope you guys enjoy it. I shall post more chapters this week.


	4. Speechless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you teach me?” Sherlock cracked a smile, and John noticed that it had been so long since he last saw that. I didn't know I missed it so bad until now, and yet, I am leaving it again, I am leaving you again. What if you need me? What if you don't need me anymore? God, I wouldn't make it.

Mary was more confident entering 221B every single time she did it and Sherlock wasn't sure he liked it, but at the same time, John looked very happy to see her growing close to his home and natural habitat, including the creatures with whom he shared the latter.

“Hello, Sherlock!” Mary said smiling at the man on the couch with John's laptop on his lap.

“Hello, Mary.” He said not looking at her.

“Are we ready then?” John came from the corner putting his coat on and clearly talking to Mary because Sherlock didn't recall making plans with John. Not in ages.

The happy couple was going to see a potential place to the wedding party. They were going to love it. The place would have the perfect day in May, just the day they wanted and John would go to her flat tonight to celebrate, because every time something happy happened, John went to Mary's. They still did cases together and still had the same relationship, but Sherlock was now cold and a bit distant by choice.  _ Feelings are not going to make anything easier, might as well have some control of myself or I'll be just like regular people. Ugh. _

Sherlock knew that they would love it because Mary was always in the living room planning with John and at some point the detective started paying attention to the conversation and what they were looking for, this is how he recommended this place to John and made sure Mycroft would have the place ready, in very cheap terms and free at the day they wanted the wedding, in return he had to work in a double murder case, a serial killer that had killed – in both occasions – someone important, people that  _ held national secrets _ , Mycroft had said, and that was indeed an interesting case, Sherlock knew he was dealing with an intelligent criminal. Very intelligent, but of course Mycroft would never hear that from him... but that wasn't important, the important thing was that John would get the perfect establishment, Sherlock was proud of himself, and John was going to celebrate at Mary's.

 

**

 

_As we are on speaking terms now,_

_I'd like to know how the case is doing,_

_brother dear._

_MH_

 

_Spare me. Nothing new._

_SH_

 

_**_

 

_I wish to know why such trivial thing_

_was worth such sacrifice... Or, I'd like_

_to see you confess._

_MH_

 

_Fuck you. I am getting this serial killer_

_to get a hold of you._

_SH_

 

_I got your threat on my phone now, Sherlock._

_MH_

 

_Good for your fat ass._

_SH_

 

_**_

 

The detective was sitting in the living room alone, thinking, when the door opened. It was rather late, but John was home.

“Thought you were going to Mary's. I supposed you were going to celebrate.” Sherlock said not looking away from the ceiling.

“No, she was calling her friends, telling about the place. It was perfect. Thank you.” John stood behind his chair and gave Sherlock a breath taking smile.

“I have no idea what kind of man you think I am, but I am not involved in your rather boring business.”

“The perfect place, as cheap as the perfect price in our budget and free at the perfect day. I have been in war, I got shot, my sister is an alcoholic and I live with you, I wouldn't say it was my luck.” the doctor smiled.

“I have a double homicide and Mycroft is killing me with meaningless texts, do you really think I have time for your dull life?” The detective closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“Well, I certainly hope you find sometime because I have a big request for you.” John finally sat on his chair and leaned towards Sherlock who actually was looking at him without moving his head, just out of the corner of his eye, “So?” 

Sherlock kept silent, waiting.

“The best man.” the doctor said expecting.

“You could ask George, Mike Stamford... Honestly, John, can't you pick alone?” Sherlock was sitting now and staring at the blonde man.

“I don't need help to pick my best man! And it's  _ Greg.  _ His name is Greg. My best man is supposed to be my best friend, Sherlock, I am asking you, will you be my best man?” The detective was static. He looked like one of those machines, 'Sherlock has found an error and needs to restart', that is what his face read and John smiled, but that faded when the face stayed for another10 seconds.

“You are saying I am your best... Friend?” John had said man at the same time, but that was eclipsed by the pain it caused to hear Sherlock say, out loud, that he didn't know how John felt.

“Of course you are, and I want to have you there with me in the most special day of my life.” another smile, but the detective didn't mirror John, because his most special day up to this day, had been the day he overdosed and was found by this blonde, small man that had saved him, but now he was leaving, now Sherlock was on his own. Again. “So, what do you say? Damn it, Sherlock, is like proposing all over again, will you do it?”

“Yes, of course I will be there.” Sherlock got up and walked as fast as he could without actually running and got into his room, closing the door behind him.

 

**

 

“You can't just step on my feet!” Mary insisted and laughed, standing in the middle of the living room hugging John. They had been dancing. Trying. Sherlock was observing from the corner where he had been playing the violin so they could waltz.

“I have never done this before and frankly, you are not the best teacher!” John chuckled. He was right, Mary was an awful teacher, she just went for it because she knew how and wasn't patient to John.

“Well, whatever, I have to go,” she gave the doctor a peck, “you spend some boy time with Sherlock solving crimes. How is the double murder going Sherlock? Any progress?” she asked trying to make light conversation. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“It is a government case and I am not allowed to talk about it.” He put his violin aside and John rolled his eyes.

“Well, this is a good criminal, good match for you,” she winked, “you watch the competition Mr. Holmes.” she teased and walked out of the door.

“I am never going to be good enough to dance in front of everyone.” John interrupted Sherlock's silence.

“It's not hard John.”

“Said the stripper. Fuck off, is not like you'd do that much better than me.” The detective walked up to him and without any hesitation put his hand on the shorter man's hips and held his other hand. God they were close.

The detective started leading, moving to a waltz that was playing only in his head, the waltz he was writing for John to dance at his big day. John's waltz. His moves here fluid and beautiful and the doctor could feel and follow every single one, not meaning to, it just happened, he just lived up to the story of their relationship, he followed Sherlock without questioning, knowing that it was worth it.

When the brunette finally moved away John wanted to protest, but didn't, he just stood there.

“Can you teach me?” Sherlock cracked a smile, and John noticed that it had been so long since he last saw that.  _ I didn't know I missed it so bad until now, and yet, I am leaving it again, I am leaving you again. What if you need me? What if you don't need me anymore? God, I wouldn't make it. _

 

**

 

John would come every Tuesdays and Thursdays and let Sherlock guide him through the waltz he had written for John's wedding.

“One more time.” Sherlock's baritone sounded like a whisper close to John's face and the doctor held his breath.

They moved like their feet weren't actually touching the floor, Sherlock staring over John's shoulder as it was supposed to be, so the doctor tried his best to do the same and failed miserably. He stared at Sherlock's arms, or his neck, sometimes his cheekbones and sometimes, when he felt really brave, the detective's eyes.

“Yes, that is it. You are rather improving.” The brunette said stepping away and again, John just wanted the heat from his body to linger for a few more seconds.

“Um, thanks,” the doctor cleared his throat, “I have no idea what I am doing, but it looks like it works so, thanks.” Sherlock scoffed and looked at his phone.

Suddenly his expression changed and he was startled, running for his coat and scarf.

“What is it?” John asked still standing in the living room.

“The case, the double murder. Don't wait up.” Sherlock said rushing to the door.

“I am coming with.” the doctor reached for his coat but was cut short by the baritone's tone.

“No.” John mumbled a 'why' “Because I don't need you.”

The door closed and the blonde sat on the couch. It hurt. Why did it have to hurt? He punched the pillow beside him.  _ Because it's Sherlock and that is what he does to you, idiot. _

 

**

 

This case was revealing itself as one of the hardest ones and Sherlock had been locked in his room for days, wouldn't talk about it with anyone.

 

_It happened again._

_MH_

 

_Where?_

_SH_

 

_Does it really matter? You have to stop this._

_MH_

 

_Yes, sure, enlighten me with proofs. Where?_

_SH_

 

Sherlock approached a crime scene like one usually approached a curious, glowing, strange object. It is interesting, but nobody wants to ruin it by touching or something of the kind.

From that scene he collected all that was missing. 

“Did you get anything?” a cop asked.

“More than the necessary.” Sherlock said moving away.

 

_Any guesses?_

_MH_

 

_Fuck off._

_SH_

 

**

 

Sherlock got up in the morning, showered, brushed his teeth and put his dressing gown, the blue one on top of clean pyjama pants.

He remained sitting on the couch until ten thirty AM, when he got up and went into his room, opened the dresser and stared at a beautiful suit. It was gorgeous. Maybe he would just go back to the living room. Re-read a book, watch telly. He didn't have to do this.

Looking in the mirror now, the suit fit him perfectly and he looked rather pleasant.  _ I still don't have to do this.  _ He thought while dealing with his hair, he thought the same thing putting his shoes on and only surrendered when he stepped on the creamy, squeaky floors of the church chosen for the ceremony.

Sherlock wasn't there for most of it, and then they made their vows and Sherlock thought that Mary's 'I do' was the most hurtful thing he had ever heard in his life. And then he heard John's.

 

**

 

A speech could be a wonderful thing. It could do wonders. Now, how does one write a good one, though?

Sherlock had Greg's help.

“What do I say? Thanks for saving me from cocaine, I hope that now that you are leaving for good I do not find myself in an alley again because I really cheer for you and I know normal people do not enjoy drug addicts.” Sherlock ruffled his hair and laid his forehead on the white paper on the table.

“I know you are a git, and you suck at this, but tell him how much he means to you.” Greg said calmly, sitting across from Sherlock, playing with a pen, as if the world wasn't ending.

Half an hour later the detective pushed the paper across the table and waited.

“I see what you are going for here, and it is better than the last one, but...” Lestrade started picking his words. Sherlock hated when he picked words.

“But? Talk, Lestrade.” the brunette stared at him coldly.

“But maybe 'the fact that I am a cruel sociopath doesn't stop me from thinking that maybe I feel sympathy for you, so there you go. Just for you though, therefore, I can not congratulate you for your marriage because I think this is rubbish, although whatever you want I suppose I will  have to support you.'” Lestrade gave him a look that said 'maybe not.'

“Okay, I will try this again.” This time, the detective wrote calmly and Lestrade didn't even know how long it had been. Then the paper was slowly put in front of him. Lestrade read it with attention and when he was finished his eyes were watering.

“That is it. This is... This... Why didn't you tell him?” Sherlock got up and went into his room, closing the door quietly behind him, which the DI assumed, was his 'goodbye.'

 

**

 

All eyes were on Sherlock when he stood up holding the paper, his hands shaking a little and embarrassing him.

“We are here today,” he started and had to clear his throat, taking a moment to breathe. Molly, the girl from the morgue was there, with a new boyfriend that was going to dump her tonight. She gave him an encouraging smile, “I am sorry, we are here today to celebrate the union of two people, but, as a best man, my job is to tell you about John and his qualities, his humour and his flaws, although I don't think I can do so. John is a very good man that saved me and I am very grateful for his friendship,” Sherlock could see Lestrade's brows furrowing and a frown showing on his face, “I can only hope that he sees how much I appreciate his happiness and wish them both good luck, health and lots of happiness. I will always be on the other end of the line to hear about your new adventures, John.” He looked at the blonde sitting beside him and the look on his face was one of curiosity, as if he knew.  _ It really is a shame that you don't,  _ Sherlock thought . “So I invite you all to join me on a toast, to my best friend and his new partner. Congratulations, I really wish you all of the best.” Everybody raised their glasses and clapped, Mary had this huge smile on her face and so did the guests, but John was looking at Sherlock, really looking, so when Sherlock had the chance to leave right after the waltz, he tried, but not before bumping into Lestrade. 

“What happened to your speech?” Sherlock scoffed. “No, Sherlock, he has the right to know. He cares about you.”

“He has the right to know what? I have no right to tell him about something that will ruin his wedding and all of this rubbish he got himself in. Let him be happy.” Sherlock moved away, looking for his car keys, the rented car he got just for this sodding wedding.

“Hey.” he heard someone say from behind him when he opened the car's door. Not someone,  _ him _ . “That was a nice speech, thank you.” The detective nodded and mumbled 'you are welcome' under his breath, “But... I'd really like the real speech.” Sherlock froze, looking at John. “I asked you to be my best man because I wanted  _ you _ to talk, I wanted  _ you _ to be up there, not some speech taken from the internet. I wanted  _ you _ . So, why didn't you use your words? Greg told me it was going to be an important moment in my life if I knew how to listen, but that was someone else, not you.” John snapped and kept eye contact with Sherlock.

The detective took a deep breath, “You don't want to hear what I have to say.” Sherlock got in the car and closed the door, turning the engine on, trying not to focus on John's confused expression, then he drove away.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Going camping so, figured I'd leave this here. I'll be back on Tuesday the fifth and post another one. Hope you guys enjoy. Any comments, critics and all are very, very welcome!   
> Thanks!


	5. Separate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want it. I want it so bad...
> 
> **
> 
> Maybe if I only have a small dose...

_ I want it. I want it so bad... _

 

_**_

 

_Maybe if I only have a small dose..._

 

_**_

 

_But what if John needs me?_

 

_**_

 

_I can't disappoint John by being high if he needs me._ Sherlock put the syringe down. 

 

**

 

It had been a month. John called a few times, showed up quite a bit, but Sherlock insisted he was occupied with this really hard case, the serial killer still. 

Until one day, John stormed in.

“We need to talk.” he said firmly.

“Do I want to know why?” Sherlock didn't look away from the microscope.

“Are you at it again?” The doctor's voice was cold.

“No.” the brunette answered, still not looking away.

“You would talk to me, right?” the blonde mumbled, tying to keep his harsh face on.

Sherlock scoffed and looked at him, “I am really busy... The case.” That was it. The. Fucking. End. 

“You wanker. You are hiding behind this case because you don't want to face something else. There is something that you are hiding from me. I want to fucking know what. Now.”

“John, listen to me. No. You can't.” Sherlock tried, “It is the government, their information.”

“Sherlock, I know you. I have known you for what, over an year now? But it feels like you have always been there and, I find it hard, this kind of thing, and you know it, but... But I am not giving up on you so easily, so you either tell me now what the fuck is going on or I will have Mycroft take you out of this flat to do some blood, urine and whatever the fuck kind of tests he wants to do with you.”

“You can, but I can't tell you.” Sherlock's phone beeped.

 

_A fourth one, Camden town,_

_next to Jazz cafe, number 277._

_MH_

 

_On my way._

_SH_

 

“I have to go, John.” John ran and stood in between Sherlock and the door.

“If I don't come with...” he didn't finish.

“John, please. I don't want you to see that. Please.” the detective put his guard down.

“Don't do this to me.” the doctor said keeping eye contact. They were so close.  _ Don't make me lose you because I am not going to make it, Sherlock, please. _

“Okay.” Sherlock agreed.

“Okay?” the detective nodded and next thing they knew, they were flying down the stairs and stopping a cab.

 

**

 

The crime scene was the same, the body was in the same conditions and John watched Sherlock work.

After a minute the detective was startled and asking a random officer if he could borrow his phone, checking also the victims phone number.  _ Oh damn, been there, done that _ . John closed his eyes and breathed in.

Sherlock was passing through and almost ignored John, but the shorter man grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going?” the detective looked away.

“Now, you really have to stay. I mean it.” the brunette finally made eye contact.

“No bloody way in hell. Is either me coming with you or me following you, or holding you here against your will. I am not leaving you.” Sherlock's heart shattered. 

“If anything happens to you...” 

“Then you'll be there. I will be okay.” John offered a faint smile, “I trust you.”

Sherlock wanted to kiss him. Yes. That was his first realization. If John Watson ever accepted his love, he would consume the poor doctor, he would break him and destroy him, it would be like fire and it would be intense, beautiful and the end of the bravest man Sherlock had ever met. So he didn't. Although he pictured a hundred ways that could go, he just stopped a cab and gave instructions, instructions that John recognized as the place where the abandoned station was.  _ It is okay, Sherlock is here.  _ John thought while he slipped into the cab without a word.

 

**

 

The station was – as expected – empty and the doctor could hear himself breathing.

“John, I need you behind that wall.” Sherlock looked like he was about to be sick, but John wouldn't point it out. They were about to encounter a serial killer and he didn't mean to change the focus. “Hold this. Is a recorder, yes, now, I will put this in this pocket. Do not move, do not play with it, do not touch it. I need you to stand there, and no matter what you hear, you need to stay there. My life depends upon it.” Sherlock stared into John's eyes. They were both about to risk their lives, he was being given severe instructions, and yet, he managed to think about how it would feel to close the space in between his and Sherlock's mouth. Bit not good. Timing. 

“Okay. No matter what, I promise I won't move.” John breathed. Hard to keep this promise. So hard.

“Now, get there and remember, not one move, the killer needs to believe that we are alone.” Sherlock gave John one last look and it was so hurt, he had so much pain. It was almost a goodbye look.

Before John could even figure what it meant, he was behind the wall and a minute later there were steps. Not Sherlock's.

“I thought you woul-” A gun shot was heard and Sherlock was cut short, the thump of a body falling to the ground.

“I have no time for this. You got in my way, Sherlock. As I said, watch the competition.” Mary's voice echoed and John, if he wanted to move. He couldn't.

“Mary,” Sherlock's voice was muffled and full of air, John could hear him gasping, but he couldn't move, “You don't want this, John...” John was trying to process, to get his phone and call for an ambulance, he tried to reach in his coat, no noises he remembered. That wasn't Mary out there, he was going insane, he was hearing things and this wasn't the time.

“Oh I do, I want this. I didn't come to talk, I don't do  _ talks _ . John had been so depressed because of you and your stupid addiction, now, if I shot the right spot, which I probably did, your blood will be mixing with your stomach acids and you'll die a painful death, if I did not, you are bleeding to death, alone, as you are meant to be. Is a shame that you got on my way. I could have said I wished you had never involved yourself in this case, but I'd be lying. Killing you now is saving my skin and stopping the competition, for John belongs to me.” Mary smiled and Sherlock was on the verge of passing out, so she started moving away, but before she could turn her back or understand what was that weird shadow, another gun shot was heard and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

John stood there. She wasn't going to die, not from the shot. She was unconscious because she hit her head on the floor. He let his gun fall to the ground and knelt beside Sherlock.

“Oh, Sherlock, what have you done. Talk to me, Sherlock!” John could hear him try to make sounds, but he couldn't understand and the pressure he was putting on the wound wasn't enough and where was the fucking ambulance that he called what seemed like five centuries ago?

_ Don't, please, no. Sherlock, I forbid you. _

Sirens were heard and John was pushed aside as his wife and best friend were put in an ambulance and there was nothing he could do.

He called Greg.

 

**

 

As his eyes opened, Sherlock was a bit disoriented, but he recognized the blonde man standing there.

“Hello,” John said from the corner, he didn't seem amused.

“It feels like the first time, all over again.” Sherlock said sarcastically.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor kept his questions short.

“I wish I could say something positive, but I can't, so I will just refrain from answering.” the brunette blinked a few times trying to focus.

“I might as well call the doctor then.” John said and walked towards the door, where he came to a full stop and Sherlock waited, “You said... you lied to me. You knew she was going to shoot you, you knew it was her all along, you... why did you do this?”

“I couldn't risk giving it all away, I couldn't risk anything.” Sherlock said furrowing his brows as if it was the most obvious thing, “I needed her to feel comfortable. I don't think you'd go to her flat and have crazy nights of wild celebration if I told you 'oh, by the way, she killed two men and cut their tongues, for all that we know she might have cooked them and fed it to you.' I needed her blind, therefore you had to be blind, I had no proofs.” the detective made an effort to explain. Were they really going through this now?

“I married her.” John was shouting now.

“I am so sorry, John. I assure you, it was to keep you safe that I kept you in the dark.” his words were true, but he couldn't get John to see it like that.

“It doesn't matter now. I handed the recorder to the police. They arrested her. This is the person I married, I was going to have a life with her and you let me believe that. This is not about my fucking safety! This is about how I was deceived and not just by her, the bloody psychopath that I called wife, but by you, you let me believe that I had what I wanted to take it away from me in the most dramatic way. You knew for months!” Sherlock looked at John, trying to find words, but what could he say? _Yes, but I couldn't break your heart like that, not unless it was necessary, and it was and you needed to see it, to hear it from her. You wouldn't have believed me! You would have cut me off, you... What if I needed you and you have chosen her? I needed you to be sure of my truth because otherwise you would have left me._ None of that came to life.

“I am sorry.” The detective tried. John slammed the door behind him and he didn't come back. 

 

**

 

 

Mycroft would come to the hospital daily, bring news from the outside, play deductions.

“I wonder how are you keeping from boredom, brother dear, would that be the morphine?” _such a bloody git, swear to God._ Sherlock thought.

“I am not keeping from boredom, I am talking to you, for God sakes. That must mean despair.” Mycroft smiled.

“I wonder... Baker Street will not be the same, will it?” Sherlock knew Mycroft was referring to the obvious fact that John was probably moving out. Yet again. 

“It is just fine, nothing changed and I don't see where this is coming from.” The detective looked out the window with a smirk.

“I always told you not to get attached, but you don't listen.” Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed.

“What? Are you going for a sentimental talk now? Please don't. Do remove your fat ass from my bed before you break it and then use it as a motivation to remove your whole person from my room. Thank you. Bye.”

 

**

 

The doctor had said two weeks. Sherlock had argued with her, but she didn't give a crap. He liked her.

“Doctor... Amanda,” he read the name tag, “I am perfectly fine and it rather tests my patience that you want to tell me how I am feeling.”

“Oh, bummer.” She smiled, “It's just three days now Sherlock. You only got two weeks! You got shot in the stomach and only got two weeks in the hospital! Stop being a baby!” She smiled again, a smile that reached her blue eyes and made her look like a child, ten years younger. Sherlock felt overwhelmed by how nice she was.

“But I am bored.” he protested.

“You are, and it will be over in a few days.”

The detective rolled over giving his back to her like a child. If John was here he would give him shit for it and tell him it would be okay, and maybe, just maybe, even pet his hair.

The blonde army doctor would never return and Sherlock tried not to curl around himself because of his wound, but it did hurt. He could feel in his guts that there was no way around that and he messed it all up, but John would have never heard him, he had no proof; He also had no courage to break the doctor's heart like that.

 

**

 

Three. Fucking. Longest. Days. Specially with Mycroft's constant visits, but it was over now.

The detective was being pushed in a wheel chair and one of Mycroft's MI6 people was here to get little Sherlock.  _Ugh. Fucking British Government pisses me off._

“Sir, would you like me to do anything else for you?” The man asked when Sherlock was on the couch, propped upon five thousand pillows that he never asked for.

“I am okay Michael. Thank you. Tell your wife that you want to save your marriage, she still likes you and I do believe that would be useful for my brother. Focused men work better.” Sherlock winked, but the man didn't even flinch because he had been warned about what a delight Mr. Holmes could be.

After Michael left, Mrs. Hudson came up and down checking on Sherlock who, at one point, when he couldn't stand her talking anymore, pretended to be sleeping and so he felt her hand on his hair and heard her weep for a little bit until she left and didn't come back.

But then, he kind of wanted her to come back and pat his hair. 

 

**

 

It had been two days since Sherlock was back to Baker street when he finally heard the familiar steps on the stairs. John hadn't returned to the flat, he was just at Stamford's house, because the detective had gone in his room and checked.

The door opened slowly and Sherlock waited with hungry eyes to get a glimpse of the man.

“Hello.” John said, he looked like a bus had hit him and then backed up and hit him again. A few times.

“You look awful.” Sherlock said, but the words meant something else and he wondered why didn't he just say the right words.

“I wonder why,” the blonde took a sit on his regular chair, “How are you feeling?”

“Bored.” Why wasn't he shouting yet? Getting his clothes perhaps?

“I see... Well, I need to talk to you and tell you some things that might not be so pleasant.” John bit his lower lip. _Wish I could do that_ , Sherlock thought absently and shook the thought away.

“You are leaving because you don't trust me. You see John, if that will make you feel better about it, then fine, but, how was I supposed to tell you? How was I to break your heart? I couldn't prove anything and... And if I did then what? You'd divorce her and what would you say? 'Sorry, you are a serial killer, so... Don't think it works.' What if she hurt you? It would be my fault, and yet you blame me because you are an adrenaline junkie. Because you chose her.” _And not me_.

“I know all that, Sherlock, and although I know that you are the most stupid genius to ever cross God's green Earth, I understand and appreciate that you were concerned about me, I came to tell you that I am not leaving, I came to apologize.” John offered a sincere look and Sherlock held his gaze.

“I accept your apologies. Great, now, I am dying for something to do, can you call Greg?” _I have so much to tell you, but I can't. It is just the wrong moment and the wrong... Could it ever be the wrong feeling? What can I tell you? John Watson, I have the wrong sort of feelings for you. Leave because I will break you if you accept them, or, if you don't, I will die from an overdose on my bathroom floor cause you left me. No. Not rational._

“I am not done, there is something else.” The detective stopped. “I've read your speech, your actual speech, and...” Sherlock froze, going through every single word he had written. Why didn't he burn this? Overdose on the bathroom floor it was.

The detective didn't say anything, he just waited for the blow that was to come.

As he remembered, the speech ran like this:

 

“ _Good evening, we are here to celebrate a happy moment in the life of John and Mary, or rather, you are. My mission today is a very simple one, and at the same time, the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I am here to tell you about John Watson, to give him my regards for his new adventures and to praise him on his choices, but I can't. I wrote this a thousand times and yet, I can't._

_John is the most brave, kind and loyal human being I have ever met, for he saved my life the first time we met and never let go of me because he knew that all of my denials and scoffs were actually pleads for him to stay and save me from what I couldn't save myself._

_I see that times have changed and the man himself has too. I see it every morning in the way he sits on that old chair in the living room with his coffee, I can see it from the way he walks to the door every time someone rings the bell... You are not here to know what I see or how; You are here to hear me congratulate a man for his choices and his new path, but I can't. I can't because I could never know what awaits for you in the future and yes, I do wish with all of my being that you are the happiest man to cross this Earth, but I can't promise you that and feed you kind words that might not be actual promises, but they will read as such. I can't promise life will be easy because you have found_ _ her _ _ , and I could never lie to you and see you disappointed because of me. This is why I can't congratulate you on your choices, because I can only trust your judgement, I always have and never have I ever been let down by you, so I trust that Mary will be a success in your life, but it's only what I hope for. _

_As you walk into this new journey, I expect you to realize that you'll be missed by all of those left behind. You'll be so missed that I hope people can see you in my words when I try to be kind, in my experiments when I succeed, and in my eyes when I am in peace. I say that meaning that I hope you go ahead and be happy, but I expect to have a piece of you with me. You have made me a better man and you'll both make each other better as the path goes, no matter what happens. Now, I would like to close with a quote from Matthew McConaughey, whom quite honestly I only heard about because of John, and it runs like t_ _ his: '  _ _ There's three things, to my account, that I need each day: One of them is something to look up to, another is something to look forward to, and another is someone to chase.' You gave me all three of them everyday, and I'm ought to believe that the woman you chose will give you the same in even more significant ways, if that is possible. Goodnight.” _

 

That could have gone so much better if John had just skipped this little revelation.

“Greg told me your speech was amazing and when we came to your flat, he saw the paper lying somewhere and gave it to me, told me that I had the right to read it.”  _ WELL, SHIT. HE WAS WRONG. NO RIGHT WHAT SO EVER, JOHN YOU PRICK.  _ Sherlock was trying to keep his breath even and keep it cool. Not working.

“I suppose Greg is a very emotional man that thinks anything rubbish and with a quote is amazing and enlightening.” the detective waved his hand away.

“I do too, you know.” Their eyes were locked now.

“You are not that shallow, John, it would take something real to move you, that was rubbish.” Sherlock swallowed nervously.

“You know I don't mean the speech and I know you are lying. I do, Sherlock. I always have, but now is just such a bad time.” It hurt to hear that and the detective wished he could delete it from his hard drive, but it was like it melted and glued to it, leaving no hope of recovery.

“I... I suppose I agree with you.” Sherlock said looking away.

“So I am going to spend a few days with Mike, maybe a few weeks as we go through this slowly.” Sherlock flinched.

“I see...”  _ No. Please. I can't do this. You can't do this to me. _

“I believe it will be much easier to figure out things after a while.”  _ I know what I want, please, you stupid genius, I wish you could see through me, trust me when I say that  _ _ I do _ _ .  _

“You are ought to know that I was offered a case in Germany and I might go, spend a few months there, so... You can stay in the flat. I leave in about a week.” Mycroft had told him not to go on this, but then it became the only option and it would be great to torment his older brother.

“Oh, so... Yes. Months? I... Well... Are you even okay to do this?”  _ No! You little shit. No, don't leave me. _

“Yes. Now... If you are going back to Stamford, send my regards.”  _ Or don't. Don't go. If you don't then I won't. We can work it out, John, we can... We can do so much. What if I need you? _

 

**

 

The train station was cold and Sherlock thought about Mycroft's face “ _ There is eighty five per cent of chance that you will die! Sherlock, this is insane and they don't need you!” _ , always amusing.

There was almost no one in there and the detective was alone, running his fingers through his scarf, so absorbed in it that he didn't hear the quick steps behind him.

“Sherlock!” John yelled.

“Oh, hello.” His heart skipped a bit.

“Hey, um, hi, I came to say goodbye.” John looked at the floor, he looked like a teenager.

“I wondered if you were selling coffee, quite a busy hour.” Sherlock stared sarcastically.

They held their gazes for long seconds.

“I came to say, to ask, don't go.” John said swallowing and making his best to keep eye contact.

“John, there are people waiting for me, people that need me.” Sherlock looked into John's eyes and he could feel the pain in his chest.

“Take me with you. None of this matters. Sherlock, I just... I needed time, just time! I had married her, but I love you. I want you, and if you board that train I am afraid I might lose my chance, forever.” John was crying. He had tried not to, but the panic was rising in his chest and suffocating him.

“I can't, it is too dangerous. This time it really is.” The detective said and reached to hold and squeeze John's hand. “You will never lose your chance, John, for I was about to spend a life time without you and yet, I wasn't discouraged.” the detective smiled, “This will give you time and I promise to keep in touch. Don't do this, you came here because you are in panic, don't be. I do too.” Sherlock wiped away a tear that was dancing on John's cheek and suddenly they were close and leaning in. The doctor closed the space in between their mouths and  _ oh. _

There are kisses in one's life that are special, because of the situation, because of feelings or whatever other reason, and then there is this, a kiss that changes everything, that sorts all of your priorities out for you and you know that no matter what is at stake you know who you are choosing. Always.

“When will you be back?” John said burrowing his flushed face on Sherlock's chest.

“I don't know.” Sherlock held him close.

“I hate you for doing this. Damn, couldn't you just spend some time apart from me in Baker Street? You are a fucking drama queen and I hate you for it.” John stopped, “You know what I mean.”

“I do, in fact, now shut up.” Long fingers went up and down John's back and he could feel the heat from Sherlock's body. 

“Oh, sherlock, the shit I put up with...” John started.

“That'd be me” Sherlock's voice sounded cold.

“Yes, exactly...” John giggled and then put his head up to see Sherlock's broken expression.

“No, john, I mean, this is my train.”

 

**

 

_ Drowning wasn't so much like I felt, it was more like heat taking control of my lungs. More like numb limbs, clenched heart and then nothing. Cause after he was gone there was nothing. _

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Hope you enjoy it! I am back from camping and should post the last two chapters this week. xx


	6. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are the most amazing man I have ever known.

Sherlock had called three weeks in and John had been so happy to hear his voice. They spoke for a few minutes, they didn't need more than that, really.

“Hello, John.” Sherlock said when John picked up.

“Sherlock! Where are you? How are you?” A little bit of panic took over him again.

“I am in a secret location, with a group of dull men, so not really okay, they are just so boring!” John smiled and even chuckled a little, sighing deeply.

“I... Well... Um...” the doctor stopped.

“Yes, your presence would have made this place a hundred times better for me too.” the detective felt his cheeks burn.

“When will you come back?” The doctor asked anxious.

“Well, I have a train ticket for exactly a month and a half from now, you can pick me up at the station, at night, and this might be my only phone call to you. I am breaking a bunch of rules here.”

“Very out of character for you, don't you think?” They both giggled. 

“Well, I will see you then.” John smiled and Sherlock could hear it in his voice.

“I will see you then.” Sherlock stopped, “John?”

“Yes?”

“There is something I always meant to say and I never have, but since this might be my last chance, I might as well say it now.” John waited, “I love you and when I come back, I want you to marry me. Maybe not this year or the next, but whenever you are ready, I want to marry you.” Neither of them was breathing.

“Yes.” Was all that John could say, “I love you too.”

A click was heard on the other side and the line was dead.

That had been a while back and thinking back to that always brought a smile to John's face. Sherlock would be back in about a week now and that always caused a rush of anxiety in the doctor's chest.

 

**

 

“Why would you even care?” John smiled at Molly.

“Because it is important to know if you are happy, John. You are my friend!” They both smiled.

“Yes, I am happy, I am over the moon happy. It just doesn't sound decent that I am that happy after all... Well, I did marry a serial killer that shot my best friend, that I did.” They both laughed a little.

“Well, you did, but, you know, it is never wrong to be happy, John!” Molly said, “So, are you telling me where he is or...?” The doctor sighed.

“I can't, but hey, he will come back tomorrow. I am getting him tomorrow night and maybe he'll tell you himself.” Molly smiled at the idea of Sherlock actually talking to her.

They spoke about other things, but John just couldn't stop the butterflies in his belly and the anxiety that took a hold of him. Tomorrow. Only a day away. The man of his life was going to be back in a day and he just couldn't quite believe it yet.  _ I really love that prick. _

 

**

 

The station was cold and empty. John braced himself every time a train came in, it didn't matter from where, until the right train showed up.

The doctor's heart started beating on his throat and he could hear it clearly in his ears, his stomach felt like there were not only butterflies, but a goddamn zoo let loose. How much time did a train need to fucking stop?

People finally started coming out of the train and none of them was Sherlock. John looked at each one, every single human that left that train and some bags too.

He waited until there was no one else, and then he started to look around, but there was no sign of the detective and the station grew cold and empty again, but there was no Sherlock to be seen.  _ Maybe he didn't see me and went home, maybe he is coming tomorrow. Wish he'd be able to call. _

 

**

 

When John had reached home he had called and looked for Sherlock, but he wasn't there. He was nowhere to be seen. 

The doctor couldn't sleep that night, and so he decided that Sherlock might be coming the next night and he went to wait. 

The same feelings took over him when the train stopped and the same thing happened. John felt that something was wrong. Maybe Sherlock had met a German man that didn't marry a serial killer and decided to stay there. Would he call if that was the case? Impossible to know.

The blonde army doctor felt sick and touched his pockets for his phone, calling the detective, but that was voice mail, so he called the only person that could possibly know something, but, why in hell did he think that he could reach Mycroft?

He took a cab back to Baker Street and thought that maybe Sherlock would be there, maybe he hadn't seen him. That was still a possibility.

As John took the steps two at a time, he heard something moving inside the flat and his chest was swollen with love and anticipation.

When the door opened his heart stopped for a moment.

“Hello, John. It's been quite some time.” The man said smiling a sad smile and John knew.

“What happened to him, Mycroft?” John was standing in the doorway and trying to keep still.

“It's okay, John, have a seat.” Mycroft said standing in the middle of the living room.

“It's not fucking okay, you tell me where he is. Now.” John couldn't hear himself shouting, he could hear a whisper, he was too lost in his own head.

“Sherlock is not coming back.” Mycroft held John's gaze and the doctor felt his stomach turn inside him, “Sherlock drowned three weeks and a half in the mission and his body is somewhere in Germany. I couldn't bring it back, it would cause too much of a fuss.” Mycroft looked out of the window.

“You are...” He wanted to say lying, but... “What happened?” John was still standing there.

“He was caught. I told him this was going to happen. I am sorry, John, but I could only give you the news when it was impossible to hide them anymore. It is government business.”

John used the wall to sit on the floor and he tried to breathe in and out, but he could only feel his chest clenching, his hands shaking and he could only hear his heart. Maybe Mycroft was talking, maybe he wasn't, it didn't matter. He had so much to say to Sherlock and now it was late, so nothing else mattered, nobody else mattered. John couldn't tell if he was crying or not, he was too absorbed in his thoughts, of things he wanted to tell Sherlock.  _ You are the most amazing man I have ever known. I love you. Yes, yes, I will marry you. I am ready. I want to wake up beside you, you git. Sherlock, you can be such an idiot when you want to. I love you. I wish I would resemble you sometimes. I wish I would have been there. We could have drowned together, and if I couldn't save us, at least, I'd have held your hand while the water fluttered our lungs, I would have and in a way, I am sure I did. _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, hope you guys enjoy it! Any comments are very very welcome. I know that the chapter is considerably shorter and this is how it's going to be with next one too, we are just wrapping up things now, guys! xx


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wrote the speech and now it was his time to go up and say something.

After a few weeks, Mycroft manage to have a small symbolical funeral and asked John to do a speech, more because he felt responsible for John now, once that the doctor had lost all of the weight a human can lose in a week, he couldn't sleep or eat and he certainly hadn't cried yet. He was numb and gone.

John wrote the speech and now it was his time to go up and say something. He had thought about Sherlock's speech for his wedding and how he wished to say something so sweet to Sherlock and watch him roll his eyes, even though he'd be so happy that he couldn't really hide.

“Hello, I am John Watson. I was Sherlock's husband.” John said smiling a sad, broken smile and somehow, that caused him more pain than before, “Sherlock once wrote a speech for me, some time ago, but he never said it in front of anyone, I read it alone. It was the single most beautiful thing I ever saw him say and I wish I had the words to do the same for him now, but I don't. 

“You see, he was a man of character, a manipulative git that had some secret pleasure in showing off. I was the man who encouraged him to do so and be an idiot time after time, but now... Well, he used a quote and I felt compelled to answer to him, but I never have. It went like this:  _ There's three things, to my account, that I need each day: One of them is something to look up to, another is something to look forward to, and another is someone to chase.  _ He said I gave all these three things to him and I...” John felt the tears and his hands shaking, he was finally crying and it felt horrible, “I failed to say that he did the same and so much more for me. I love and always will love Sherlock. I will love his memories and all that is left from him, but I can only hope that some of him leaked into me, I hope that you can see him in my words when I sound sincere, in my eyes when I look in peace and in my words again when I say, Sherlock, wherever you are, I hate you for leaving me. I love you, and yes, I will marry you. Thank you, goodnight.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is it, thank you so much for being on this journey with me, I certainly loved to write this story and I am so sorry if it broke your heart! I know this is suuuuper short, but then again, is just to give us all some closure. Thank you very, very much! Comments, critics, it is all appreciated (:  
> See you soon! xx

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this fic kinda just happened in the last few days and I thought this would be nice. I have never done cocaine so I have no idea what is it like, Google helped me with everything, so if I lack some sort of information I am so sorry, I did my best and I hope you forgive me. Updates will be made every Tuesday, I already have the whole thing done, but I will post chapter by chapter. Thanks for reading it!


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